Scott C. Smith: Adventures as a Salvation Army bell-ringer

“Back where I come from,” the Wizard of Oz told the Tin Man, “there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila – eh, phil – um, yes, uh – good-deed-doers.”

Scott C. Smith

“Back where I come from,” the Wizard of Oz told the Tin Man, “there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila – eh, phil – um, yes, uh – good-deed-doers.”

The desire to do good deeds must hover within us, but a little outside influence certainly helps. As a member of the Rotary Club of Plymouth, I meet regularly with many good deed doers, and I admit an infectiousness of the spirit of that organization. Lord knows it carries across many fine organizations. And so it was at a recent meeting that I volunteered to spend a couple of hours ringing the little ting-a-ling bell on behalf of the Salvation Army.

How many times have I approached the market and felt the watchful eye of the bell ringer perched outside in the wintry chill of late fall. I walk toward the entrance knowing I can’t hide from the friendly eyes. I pull a bill from my wallet; I tuck it into the iconic red kettle. I feel better. Another bell ringer mans the red kettle by the time I’ve finished my shopping. Where do they get all these bell ringers? They’re volunteers, of course.

And so, when asked, I said OK. I didn’t do so because I subscribe to the Salvation Army’s mission or philosophy – I am not a soldier. For that matter, upon my review of what the Army stands for, I can say I agree with some of its positions, and I disagree with some. It’s that I think the church is successful raising money to do good deeds, and every little bit of good deed doing helps. In fact, the church declares that “All Salvation Army social welfare services are provided on a non-discriminatory basis; such services shall be equally available to all persons on the basis of need and capacity to benefit from the service.”

As a brief aside, I admit my fascination in the early history of the Salvation Army. A fellow by the name of William Booth sought a ministerial career in mid-19th century London. He spread the gospel of Jesus throughout the city’s streets, appealing to the poor and the homeless. In fact, according to the Salvation Army, he held evangelistic meetings in a graveyard and drew Christian converts from the ranks of London’s “thieves, prostitutes, gamblers and drunkards.” His converts, known as the “Hallelujah Army,” spread the good word for what was called The Christian Mission. Then Booth read a reference in the church’s annual report for 1878: “The Christian Mission is a volunteer army.” He crossed out “volunteer army” and replaced that term with “Salvation Army.”

How marvelously Dickensian!
But that was then.

In addition to the many programs the Salvation Army operates and funds – including disaster relief, prisoner rehabilitation, drug and alcohol rehabilitation, fighting human trafficking, youth camps, elderly services, and much more, including many local charitable causes – the church is perhaps best known for its Christmas Charity. The red kettle has its roots in the late 18th century practice at the Liverpool docks of sailors and others tossing a few coins into a kettle to help the poor. A Salvation Army captain used the idea in the 1890s to raise money to feed the poor in San Francisco during the holidays. The practice quickly spread, and by the turn of the century it had become a successful means for funding holiday meals. The Army says it now helps about 4.5 million Americans during the holiday season.

And so Saturday I arrived at my assignment in Independence Mall, by Macy’s entrance. I had presumed I’d be stationed outside and was dressed accordingly. I didn’t mind being inside, though, and, I think, my bell ringing efforts were likely more successful because of the temperate environment. I was amazed at how many people graciously paused, poked through wallets and pocketbooks, and stuffed bills and coins into the red kettle. And everyone who did so did it with a smile. I thanked every donor and wished each a Merry Christmas – I felt grateful and honored that so many lovely people stopped and expressed their support of charity through their donations.

Three teenage girls stopped several feet away from me and began rummaging around in their pockets. They appeared to be searching for iPods or cell phones. Then they approached, and each smiled widely as she put money into the kettle. Several parents with little ones stopped and put a bill into their children’s hands. They pointed and issued instructions, and the little tykes walked timidly forward, eyes staring at me until they reached the kettle, and then all their attention focused on trying to stuff that dollar through the slot. The parents patiently waited and encouraged. The warmth of each donation flowed through me, and my sense of community and holiday truly glowed.

I decided my best approach (I felt a certain responsibility to not just ring a bell but to successfully market the cause) was to make subtle eye contact with shoppers as they approached, and then avert my gaze as the tinkling of the bell made all the message that was necessary. I didn’t want to lock eyes and force possible discomfort or guilt. A brief contact, and then each person would choose what to do. Everyone knew I was there; everyone knew that special tinkling sound and what it meant. There was no wrong response. The two hours flew by.

My successor arrived, we chatted, and I left. I ran a couple of errands, and at each location was a ringing bell and red kettle. I cheerfully reported to each ringer that I had just done my stint, and our brief conversations fueled the warmth that comforted me throughout the day. Those two hours magnified many times inwardly, for me and certainly for the many gracious donors, judging by the warm wishes, the happy looks, the Christmas smiles, the feelings of community. The holiday spirit was indeed in the air.

Sign me up again next year. Merry Christmas!

Scott C. Smith is senior managing editor for GateHouse Media New England, based in the Plymouth newsroom. E-mail scsmith@cnc.com.

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